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Grey, ash-laden snow fell lazily around the young man; a shrouded figure moving through the dense fog that filled the empty streets. A sound causes him to freeze in place, eyes searching futilely for the source as he draws back on the cord of his bow in preparation to unleash death upon its target. After several minutes of tense immobility however he decides that whatever had caused the noise; muffled by the fog, wasn’t going to try and kill him any time soon and so carried on his way albeit with a somewhat more cautious attitude than before.
Grasping the handle in his gloved hand it quickly becomes apparent that the door was locked good looks like I might get first dibs for a change he thought to himself with a smile as he produced the nail bar from out of his worn and grubby coat.
Knowing that he would have to work quickly even with the fog deadening the sound of his entrance the boy attacks the doors lock and is soon rewarded with the sound of splintering wood; the smell of stale air and mould greeting him as he stepped into the back rooms of the small hardware store. With no electricity to power the gadgets inside and with little promise of anything useful the tiny shop had been all but ignored over years despite the growing scarcity of supplies within the city that threatened to drive those still living within to starvation or worse… cannibalism.
However Mickey; Fast Mickey to his small and ever shrinking circle of friends wasn’t in search of food this day, not that he’d say no to a little something, no Mickey was in search of something far more important.
Ignoring the shop front completely he instead heads for the small, cramped store room; breaking yet another lock with the nail bar before being able get inside and begin the task of searching for the item he desired, no needed this was no mere trinket he sought but an item of the gravest importance that could make the difference between him living to the end of the month or not.
Armed with a hastily made sketch he goes through the dust covered items stacked upon steel uni-strut racking however it quickly becomes apparent that the item he was after wasn’t here. Cursing under his breath he quickly leaves the store in order to search upstairs in the desperate hope that he would find it, find anything that would stop him from returning home empty handed.
The partially mummified corpse a the top the stairs grinned at the boy as he gingerly stepped over him “Come right in buddy sorry about the smell” the corpse’s smile said to Mickey causing him to give a nervous laugh before pressing into the rest of the building. A quick search resulted in pretty much what Mickey had expected which was absolutely nothing however it was as he was taking one more pass through the decaying remains of the living room that the glint of bare metal catches his eye. Dropping to his hands and knees he scrabbles beneath the remains of a wardrobe before finally producing the sealed tin of pilchards. Before the fall, before the bombs and the gas and the radiation had ended the world as he’d known it he would have turned his nose up at such an item but now it was like manna from heaven to him. He would eat tonight.
Another comes from outside this time much closer; the sound of voices and running feet coming from the street below him. Edging over to the window he pulls back a corner of the stained net curtains to peer out catching sight of a man and a woman running down the street. A pair of gunshots ring out cutting them both down followed by the five black clad figures that had been pursuing them. Pale ones damn I thought them dudes were dead…hoped they were dead! Mickey thought to himself as panic gripped him. Waiting long enough to make sure that they were fully distracted by the dead bodies Mickey makes a break for it, the Colonel had to hear about this, he had to know that the Pale Ones were back!

No one knows exactly how or when the end came only that it brought life as they had known it to an abrupt end. It’s been five years since the bombs dropped and you have been living within the relative safety of Bunker 13; a fallout shelter built in a park on the outskirts of London. However all is not well; food along with nearly everything else is running low and the squad of soldiers that had gathered you all here has dwindled along with their weapons and the more worryingly the group’s leader; the Colonel is dying.

You are a survivor living in the dubious safety of Bunker 13 in the midst of a nuclear winter. Guns and bullets are rare to the point of non-existence and food is in short supply all over meaning that many within the former city of London aren’t too keen on sharing. Normal CS rules apply; also if you wish to ask me anything then feel free to PM me and I’ll try to answer. Characters aren’t immortal and can die so you’ve been warned other than that enjoy.

Right everybody starts with five points with which to place on skills, each skill can only have a maximum of three points on it and the choice of skills is entirely up to you and can be as broad or narrow as you wish (OP’s Note: If anybody is stupid enough to choose “everything” as a skill I will have a giant pink rabbit crush their character to death within my first postJ) this is how the levels work.

Lvl 0- Basic - This is a completely free skill and you may have as many as you like (within reason) these skills represent bare bones knowledge such as very basic first aid or kung fu learnt from playing Street fighter and as such are not to be relied on.
Lvl 1- Trained – This represent either some kind of formal training or natural talent for instance a paramedic would have a lvl 1 in first aid.
Lvl 2 – Advanced – Not only has your character had formal training but is in fact pretty good at this particular skill and so stands a high chance of success.
Lvl 3 – Expert - you are one of the best in your particular field and although failure can still happen it isn’t likely for instance a veteran marine sniper would have a lvl 3 in Marksmanship.

These work in exactly the same way as skills albeit in reverse (-1 minor, -2 major – 3 Crippling. For obvious reasons there are no lvl 0 flaws) and as such are completely optional. However for each -1 flaw you take you may take an additional 1 skill point. So for instance if I was to take arachnophobia as a -2 flaw I could then spend an additional 2 points on something else the down side being that should I ever encounter a spider my character would run away like a schoolgirl which is rather embarrassing for a veteran marine sniper.
Flaws cover everything from disabilities, phobias, character flaws and being just plain rubbish at something.

Former Occupation (If any):
Physical Description:
Skills / Flaws: (5 Skill points)
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Well-Known Member
Name: Nelx Freelan
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Former Occupation (If any): Leisure Centre Manager
Physical Description: Nelx is a relatively small woman, standing at 5'6". With a slim body, and UK size 4 feet. She has turquoise-coloured eyes and shoulder-length, dark blonde-coloured hair, which she usually leaves to fall loosely around her shoulders in an ‘organised’ mess. She has pale skin, and her preferred attire is jeggings, combined with a woollen jumper, a winter coat and boots.
Equipment: Nelx carries with her a small handbag, stocked with all the provisions that she might need. A traditional watch is wrapped around her left arm, along with a ‘Save the Children’ bracelet.
Biography: Nelx grew up in a small house with her parents as the younger of two sisters. She was given less attention than her older sibling as a young child, and therefore, faced many emotional difficulties throughout her teenage life. At age 15, she met her boyfriend, who she eventually married at the age of 22, having dated him since their first meeting. She also trained as a lifeguard in this time, and rose through the ranks quickly to become the manager of a leisure centre in a suburb of South London. When the bombs dropped, Nelx was ushered along with many others in this ‘bunker’. Her boyfriend wasn’t at home at the time, so didn’t travel with her, and now she has no idea of his whereabouts. She has coped relatively well in this situation, having had to overcome emotional difficulties in childhood by herself. There seems to be no sign of her nerve breaking any time soon...

Skills / Flaws: (5 Skill points)
+2 Swimming
+2 Leadership capability
+ 2 Intelligence
+1 Intuitiveness
-2 Temper (Upon provocation)
-1 Critical
-1 Nosey
+2 CPR
-3 Sarcasm (This is more of a skill that a flaw, but it’ll go down as a flaw...)
+2 Long-distance running
+1 Cooking

[SPOIL]Braet, if something in here doesn't comply with the RPs setting, era, etc... please tell me.[/SPOIL]
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Name: Patrick Connelly
Age: 37
Gender: male
Former Occupation (If any): Reader of Natural Science (Physical) at Trinity College, Cambridge
Physical Description: 5’ 11” brown eyes, wavy brown hair that’s beginning to grey. Wears a white dress shirt, black slacks, black combat boots, a burgundy tie, and a homemade leather vest with a crudely painted Trinity College crest
Equipment: carries a ‘battle ready’ Gladius, Fairbairn-Sykes fighting knife, a bread bag and two canteens fastened to a Sam Browne belt
Biography: Patrick was raised outside of London. His parents exposed him to many science programmes, notably Carl Sagan’s Cosmos and BBC’s Horizon. This inspired Patrick to pursue a career in the space industry. Through other influences, Patrick eventually found himself in a research/teaching position at Trinity College, Cambridge. His path to that position included multiple research papers on future space propulsion, including ion propulsion, Hull Effect thrusters, colloid thrusters, and VASIMR. Patrick is noted for having worked on the BepiColombo mission, LISA, and the GOCE mission. Patrick was in London visiting with colleagues, to discuss the future of the LISA mission, after the success of LISA Pathfinder (I’m guessing this RP takes place after 2015, but before 2018) and the results of its colloid and FEEP thrusters. He was one of the lucky people to get herded into Bunker 13 when nuclear war was announced, and has survived ever since.
Skills / Flaws:
Quick Learner: +3
Electricity: +3
Space: +3
Bladed Weapon Use: +1
Stamina: +2
Scavenging: +1
Cooking: +1
Ranting: -1
Space: -3
Daydream: -2
Disordered: -1
Overly Cautious: -1
Risk of Melancholy Attacks: -1
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Lord Regal

Well-Known Member
Name: Caitlyn Joelson
Age: 34
Gender: Female
Former Occupation (If any): Crime Scene Investigator
Physical Description: Caitlyn is at an even 5' 8" and is slender without being skinny. She is dressed in a T-shirt, a jacket and khakis, practical clothes for her former job. She has shoulder-length brown hair that hangs in an orderly fashion behind her head. Blue eyes, serious expression
Equipment: Compass, Swiss Army Knife
Biography: Growing up, it was clear Caitlyn would go into the investigating business. When her older brother stole and ate her Easter candy when she was 6 she swiftly gathered evidence and proved to her parents beyond a shadow of a doubt what had transpired within a day. Both among family and friends at school, she swiftly became the person to go to if something went missing. It was no surprise that she went into the CSI field, picking up firearm training and hand to hand combat as well because, as she put it, "You never know when some crook will try to kill someone trying to prove they did it." She was completely devoted to her work, spending what little time she wasn't on some case or another with her family, who she had close bonds with. However, due to this lack of free time she never had all that many friends, and a relationship was out of the question. She was happy though, loving nothing more than a piece of evidence brought the next criminal to justice. The day the bombs hit she was treating herself to a pastry from her favorite baked goods shop while off duty. She was quickly herded into the shelter, leaving her no time to grab anything from her car, her office, or her home, leaving her without most of her possessions. Worse than that, though, was the realization that none of her family had made it into the shelter, that they were dead. In the five years since, Caitlyn has devoted herself to precisely two purposes: helping to keep the peace in the shelter, and finding out who committed the greatest crime of all and killed her family by dropping those bombs.
Skills / Flaws: (5 Skill points)
3 points: Investigating, Logic
2 points: Stealth, Tracking
1 point: Marksmanship, self-defense, calm demeanor, body-language reading
0 points: First aid, camping skills, swimming, stamina
-1 points: Impatient with other people, curt
-2 points: perfectionist, Large sweet-tooth (I count this as being massive because of the scarcity of pastries…if someone were to offer her one there's very little she wouldn't do for it at this point…lemme know if I'm out of line here Braet)
-3 points: Afraid of heights
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Deep, racking coughs echo around the small room that the Colonel used as both his quarters and office. Scrunching up the tissue he stuffs it hurriedly into the pocket of his fatigues so as not to see the blood and what he hoped to god was phlegm within "Are you still taking your meds sir?" a voice asks from the doorway causing the middle aged colonel to turn around; wondering how long he had been observed "No they're a damn waste of time...better to save them for the others" he replied with weary pragmatism "Besides which I'll be fine" a snort of wry laughter escapes the other soldiers lips before he goes on to speak "Begging your pardon sir but I am blind not deaf and even I know that’s bull crap...when are you going to tell the others?"
"Not until Mickey returns with the part we need, they don't need to worry about this as well" he said with the same tone of pragmatism as before. He'd been leading this small rag tag group of survivors for the better part of five years now and for the most part without a hitch though even he had to admit that things could have been better. Only two of his original platoon of thirty still remained and even one of them was now blind. As for the civilians he and his men had saved all those years ago only a handful still remained; the bunker that had once been crammed to the point of bursting now seemed cavernous in comparison.
Well into his mid fifties and fast pushing what would have been retirement age the Colonel as he was affectionately known as was a tall broad shouldered man with grey streaked light brown hair whish along with the beard he now sported was trim and neat if not strictly to regulation "Any sign of Mickey, Jim?" he asked the blind corporal as he started towards the door "No sir, though I am not as good a sentry as I used to be" he replied with a laugh, stepping aside upon hearing the approach of his CO's booted feet.
Bunker 13 despite being a relic of the Cold war was large in comparison to most fallout shelters comprising of two large barrack rooms, a kitchen, a large storeroom and a war room that was now the Colonels quarters though initially he'd shared the space with two other officers both of whom were now long since dead.
Stepping into the corridor the Colonel is greeted by the sight of an attractive Hispanic girl dressed jeans, a brown leather jacket and a pair of matching red bandana's; one tied about her right arm the other holding back her black shoulder length hair "Mouse! go and find some volunteers and check on the crops" he called causing her to stop in her tracks upon hearing his voice "Sí Colonel de inmediato" she replied before dashing off in the direction of the nearest barracks room with the Colonel watching her with the air of a proud father.
The barrack room's had originally been a pair of large open plan rooms filled with steel framed bunk beds with a set of lockers down one wall and the doors leading to a pair of chemical toilets in the other. However after five years of occupation the survivors had gone to great pains to make the pace feel like home; decorating the place with homemade paintings and scavenged ornaments along with partition curtains making the place look more like an old Arab bazaar than a military installation.
Stepping into the room eager to please the man she thought of as her father after the sudden disappearance of her real father five years previous, Mouse heads over to where a small group of people were currently sat "El Colonel wants me to check the crops whose coming?" she asked in heavily accented English making it clear that English wasn't and never would be her language of choice.


[FONT=&quot]Name: [/FONT][FONT=&quot]Clara
[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Age: [/FONT][FONT=&quot]29[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Gender: [/FONT][FONT=&quot]female[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Former Occupation:[/FONT][FONT=&quot] Seamstress[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Physical Description:[/FONT][FONT=&quot]Clara has mousy brown hair, kept short, vivid hazel eyes and a slender build. She usually wore a blouse and long skirt, with boots.
antique hand cranked sewing machine and a few sewing needles, crochet hook, knitting needles, accumulated threads/yarn/fabric and buttons on a roll cart. As well as a baseball bat.
Clara was careworn and somber for her 29 years. Before the nuclear attack, she and her husband earned a meager existence. But they were happy and welcomed their newborn son with open arms.Her mother, like her mother before her, was a seamstress. Her father was an herbologist, and had wanted Clara to follow in his footsteps, and therefore she knew a great deal about the subject.The day of the attack, Clara had been at a wealthy client’s home, measuring for custom draperies, safe in their basement. She feared the worst for her family, and after many days, managed to find the remains of their home. Her worst fears were realized. Her husband and son were dead. And, she really didn’t have much ambition to continue to live either. However, she came across Bunker 13, and they had need of her skills as a seamstress. [/FONT]

Skills / Flaws: [/FONT]
[FONT=&quot](5 Skill points)[/FONT]

+3 Seamstress
+2 Herb lore (natural remedies as no pharmacy available)
+2 Cooking
+1 Strong
-2 Apathetic
-1 Worrier


“What’s that Mouse? The crops you say? Ok… I’ll be right along.” Clara sighed, stood up, and pressed her hands into her back, to help work out the kinks. She had been bent over working on a pair of pants for Mickey. The rascal was growing right out of the ones he was wearing. Clara sighed again, and carefully tucked her needle into a safe place. Needles were getting so hard to come by, she had to be very conscious of where each were, and protect them. There was plenty of fabric…donations came in all the time. Clara never asked where they came from, as the memory of …. No, she needn’t follow that thought right now.
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Patrick was laying down on his bed, reading a copy of his last paper, Improvements of VASIMR ISP/Thrust Change Times and Energy Conversion Efficiencies, where he described how VASIMR could be made more efficient and how multiple thrust/ISP modes could be selected very quickly. Written with Professors Daniel Dae Wong and Sebastien Dale, the paper was to be their vanguard for their proposal of a new mission to Titan and Triton, the TT Skimmers, spaceships that would use VASIMR to quickly change and maintain complex orbits, while using FEEP thrusters to manoeuvre and change the spacecraft attitude. That mission, however, would probably never happen, thanks to the nuclear attacks. This was probably a large reason why Sagan had wanted to disarm the planet of nukes. Better to use them to propel spaceships than to propel the human race to extinction. However, the powers that were had decided to ignore these warnings, and had blasted the human race to near extinction, while at the same time lowering the technology level to somewhere around the middle ages. The species had left little more than a century of radio waves to indicate that they were on this planet.

Before Patrick could descent into more melancholy, Mouse popped in, asking who would go with her to check the crops. Clara, the resident seamstress, seemed very eager to help out, responding nearly immediately. Looking around, Patrick saw that many of the survivors were busy doing some task or another. Since reading his old papers wasn’t very productive in the current culture, Patrick decided to help out with the crops. “I’ll go. Just let me put my kit on first,” Patrick announced to the group, that Registered Pronunciation so valued in professors sounding out through the room. As Patrick put his vest, belt, and weapons on, he wondered what they would find that day. Although they had built a greenhouse in an attempt to keep the crops warm, the nuclear winter outside was still extremely chilly, and all that ash was a very efficient blocker of infrared rays from the sun. Many of the crops just couldn’t survive in the cold climate. A few were able to, however, and those were cross bred with each other, in an attempt to increase the greenhouse’s yield. Even when humanity was on the brink of extinction, they still had the ability to modify their environment and supplement natural selection. After he had kitted out, Patrick walked over to Mouse and Clara. “How many are you waiting for, Mouse?”
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Lord Regal

Well-Known Member
They were on the hunt…her evidence had proven without a doubt who the perpetrator was, and she was accompanying the officers to take the deadbeat down. The man had stolen a lot of money from a lot of local small businesses, and it was high time he be brought to justice and the shops reimbursed. She'd have to reward herself with a cupcake or something when this was over…she knew her department wouldn't do anything special, regardless of the fact she was clearly the best in her field. The chase led the trio of cops to the roof of a skyscraper, something the CSI woman was NOT happy about. "Ok, that one's taller, you're on the ground, it's not that high…" she muttered to herself…she was NOT going to miss out on this capture due to her crippling fear of heights. However, the criminal had somehow gotten behind them and pushed her right over the railing. She screamed as she fell, trying to deduce just how the perp had gotten around them so quickly, realizing it was a dream just before she woke up.

Keeping her demeanor calm despite her pounding heart, Caitlyn sighed. Her fear of heights was the one weakness she had on her job…so long as she had some way to rationalize her NOT being high up it was ok, but as soon as reality disproved that she was helpless against the vertigo. Shaking her head in irritation, she looked over at a small group as one of the Colonel's lackeys joined them, asking about going to go check on the crops. After a moment's thought, she rose and walked over. "Might as well join you…it's not like I'll miss anything important while we're gone, save nap time." A glance at the others told her they were Clara the seamstress, and Patrick the obsolete intellect. The former investigator got along fairly well with them both, though Patrick's being hung up on how much science had been lost when the bombs fell frustrated her…it was fine to remember the past in dreams, but to be so caught up on it that you didn't move forward? Not acceptable. She couldn't really blame him though…both her and Clara's professions were still fairly viable…with precious little new fabric someone who was handy with a needle to patch clothes was invaluable, and someone able to help ensure crime in the bunker stayed low…that was just as precious. Patrick was the only one out of his element, so was her irritation justified? Wrapped up in her thoughts, she made no effort to speak to the others, preferring the swirling mysteries contained within her head.


Silently counting off the volunteers in her head as they stepped forward Mouse was about to answer Patrick's question when Caitlyn joined them stating that she would only miss nap time by joining them " Cuatro ... sí que va a hacer, de esta manera" she said with a nod of her head before beckoning for them to follow her obviously deciding that she had sufficient people for the job at hand.
Pausing long enough to grab a few items from the curtained off cubicle that passed as her bedroom Mouse led the three volunteers down the white painted corridor towards the bunkers main entrance. The paint was now somewhat grimy and the walls cracked after all these years though with most of the lights no longer working or in this case simply switched off to conserve what little power they could still produce using the ancient generator you couldn't really tell.
Climbing the bare concrete stairs Mouse gives a friendly wave to the person lucky enough to pull sentry duty before stepping out of the bunker and into the park in which it had been built; fresh if slightly irradiated air entering her lungs.
Zipping up her jacket and pulling on a pair of gloves to fend against the falling snow she first checks that the coast was clear before heading across the dead and dying parkland; the grass long since killed by its blanket of semi-frozen ash, though much to the surprise of the residents of Bunker 13 some of the trees still seemed to be alive if not particularly healthy.
The greenhouse had been built at the far end of the park away from the bunker so as not to draw attention to where they were all living should it be discovered by any wandering group of survivors though as of late they were becoming less frequent with each passing month maybe we’re the only ones still in the city? Mouse mused to herself after all it had been a long time they had seen anyone; friend or foe.
Upon arriving at the greenhouse, she makes a quick circuit of its perimeter looking for any signs of a break in before returning to the door. The whole construction was somewhat shaky as the survivors had lacked much of the necessary tools, materials and know how to make anything better but they had been proud of their handiwork all the same “You go inside…I watch?” Mouse spoke once again in accented English the statement just as much of a question than an instruction betraying her anxiety over giving commands.

Finnegan watched as the Hispanic chick rounded up a group of people for some thankless chore with a disinterested air before laying down his cards; howls of anguish coming from the others as he then proceeds to sweep up his winnings.
Tall with long dark hair, a black leather eye patch over his left eye and a long jagged scar that ran from right cheekbone down to his Adam’s apple the Irishman was a fearsome sight to behold although at some point in his past he had possessed some rugged good looks “Man what I wouldn’t give to get a piece of that action” one of the men announced once Mouse was safely out of ear shot “The teachers pet? Forget it you’ve got better odds of making it with the professor” Finn replied with a derisive snort as he began shuffling the ragged mismatched deck of cards; the kind of deck that had fives kings and only two aces.
It was as he was dealing that Finn catches sight of the chick with the funny name; Nelx and calls out to her “Yo Baywatch! How’s about you wiggle on down here and have a little fun with us?” the old nickname still causing a couple of the guys to chuckle behind their cards then again they were the kind of people who still found fart jokes to be the height of hilarity.
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Well-Known Member
Nelx groaned from her seat on her small bed, as Finnegan, the good-looking-turned-ugly man with the eye patch called her over to wiggle over and 'play' with them. She had first resisted to being known as Baywatch, a memento of her former occupation as a leisure centre manager, but had eventually been forced to accept the horrible nickname, since her fellow bunker occupants weren't going to give up on the name any time soon... Calling from across the room, she responded in her usual sarcastic voice, "Awww, Finny... Run out of things to do, and now you need poor Nelx to come and play games with you? As if..." It was amazing how the occupants of the bunker had taken so long to come to terms with her constant sarcasm... Even now, she was still often mistaken as coming across harshly... Giving the man one of her trademark winks, she rolled herself off of her bed, before walking over to the group of men playing cards. Upon reaching them, she sat down with the group and said, "So my brave comrades, what game might we be playing on this oh so fine day, and how might I participate?"


[FONT=&quot]Clara put on her ankle length coat that she had made from old draperies, and stuffed with a mixture of cotton and wool batten, as well as goose down. It was quite warm even in the harsh winter. Donning her gloves, and pulling the hood over her head, she stepped outside with the others. With her head down, the hood helped hide her face, therefore made it easier to not have to talk much to the others. Clara usually slipped between apathy and melancholy, and the memory that she had not allowed to surface, had triggered the melancholy. Mouse told them to go inside, and Clara stepped into the greenhouse, and started methodically doing what had to be done. It was a welcomed change from the dingy walls and the low light in the bunker. [/FONT]


Patrick waited as one more person, DI (DS, DCI?) Caitlyn Joelson. It seemed that four was enough, as Mouse said something in Spanish and beckoned for the others to follow. The only word Patrick understood was quattro; the only reason he knew that was shortly before the nuclear winter, his cousin, Joseph St. James had bought an Audi RS6. The only thing he could talk about for weeks was how awesome Audi’s proprietary AWD system, quattro, was the best thing ever. Now, none of the cars ran. The group ascended to the surface, where the temperature was much colder than inside the bunker. Patrick grabbed his jacket, a duster with insulation added later, and buttoned up the quick detach buttons. Following the rest of the group to the greenhouse, Patrick looked around him. Sure, London was starting to get really ruined, after five years of no maintenance, but the place didn’t look much worse than it used to. The slowly decaying remains of technology and innovation were scattered about like a giant’s playthings, starkly reminding the survivors of that chaotic time five years previous, whose effects were still with them today.

The group had arrived at the greenhouse, only a few minute’s walk from the bunker entrance. It was far enough to cause any nomadic marauders, reduced to living a hunter gatherer lifestyle, to struggle to find the entrance, but close enough that the walk over wasn’t too bad. After Mouse had inspected for breakers, she suggested that she stay outside to guard, while the rest of the group went inside to investigate. Patrick nodded his head and entered the room. Instantly, the temperature increased again, and Patrick had to take off his jacket. He didn’t really know what to look for in the plants, so he walked around, making sure none were visibly damaged or eaten by any surviving vermin.


No sooner had Nelx come within reach of the large Irishman; a large muscular arm wrapped itself about her waist and pulled uncomfortably close to where he was sitting; the smell of homemade alcohol strong on his breath. There had been a time when the Colonel had tried to clamp down the near lethal shine produced by Finn and his cronies though after several years and a dwindling supply of men he had since given up on the idea "Why you add a touch of class to the place babyluv" James replied, the former Irish blues guitarist flashing her one of his charming smiles "'re far nicer to look at than these ugly mugs" the joke causing an uproar of mock protest from the assembled men as their good looks were called into question. Out of all them James O'Reilly was actually a rather nice guy to be around even if he did have a rather poor taste in friends.
"We're playing five card stud, now do you want dealing in or shall we add you to the pot?" Finn continued with a leer prompting a round of suggestive comments from the rest of the group with James being the only exception as he made a show of examining his cards "I am sure we could get Cinderella to make you a nice little red outfit to go with that nickname of yours" again another old joke but hey it had been five years and originality had never been their strong suits.

The greenhouse door opens with a squeal of poorly oiled and badly designed runners to reveal the crops inside. It had taken a lot of experimentation to find out which plants would grow and which wouldn't but they had eventually managed to produce enough to supplement their dwindling supply of vacuum packed army rations.
As Patrick and Clara entered the greenhouse to gather what food they could along with any gardening they felt necessary Mouse leant against the wooden door frame with her hand resting upon the tire iron stuffed into her belt.
Catching sight of Caitlyn still outside a mischievous smile appears on the Hispanic girls face as she reaches inside of her inside jacket pocket and removes the brightly coloured lolly; the rustling of plastic wrappers hinting of more held within.
Making sure that the former detective had a clear view of the sweet she makes a show of slowly unwrapping it.
It was as Mouse was playing with or possibly bribing the other woman that those within may have caught a glimpse of a figure moving around outside. The fog and Vaseline coated windows making it impossible to tell for sure who or what it was they may or may not have seen slowly moving through the undergrowth.
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Lord Regal

Well-Known Member
The outside world had become a place of profound sadness…there was no one moving around the park that had once been busy with people day in and out. The world was dead…and it was incredibly sobering. Caitlyn looked around at the dilapidated, ruined buildings, wondering why humans had created the means to destroy themselves…she wasn't stupid…living in a place with radiation meant their lives would be shortened drastically…they would never get to die of old age…cancer or some other problem caused by the toxins in the air would kill them first.

A crinkling brought her back to reality. She quickly realized that the others had already gone inside, leaving her alone with Mouse. The girl was opening a lollipop, making it clear she had more on her. Caitlyn sighed internally…she should have never mentioned missing sweets…people'd been teasing her about it nonstop since she'd told someone. "You know I prefer pastries," she shot at the Hispanic girl testily. She hesitated, making to move inside, then sighed. "Alright, fine…it'll have to do…what do you want from me?" she asked, irritated how a desire for sugar could have this much of an effect on her.


A look of pure innocence appears on the girls face as Caitlyn asked rather irritably what she wanted in return "What makes you think I want something?" she asked in return the look of innocence on her face faltering slightly as she then hesitates before then asking "Why don't you like me?" being sure to enunciate each word properly knowing that some people struggled with her accent, not that she didn't have that problem herself finding Finnegan and James to be nigh on incomprehensible when they got going.
She wasn't sure what she would received in way of an answer or even what she hoped to achieve by asking only knowing that at this point in time she'd like to know.

Lord Regal

Well-Known Member
Caitlyn had been ready for some crazy favor to be asked, and thus was quite surprised when Mouse simply asked why she didn't like her. She hadn't considered the possibility that her naturally hard, work-oriented mindset would come off as cold to someone as young as Mouse. She had to remind herself that the young woman hadn't even hit twenty...she'd had to grow up fast in the bunker...she'd only been fourteen when the bombs fell...her tricks with the candy she'd scrounged over the years were simply playful jests, trying to connect with someone in a way that would've likely been rather effective with people her own age.

Sighing as she deduced this conclusion, she smiled slightly at the younger woman. "Mouse, it's not that I don't like you...I just...consider it 'tough love'. I expect a lot from myself, and I suppose that I transition that to people I know are capable of doing more than they're currently doing. You need to have more confidence in yourself...the fact that The Colonel trusts you and has you run errands for him should tell you your capabilities. I guess I was just holding you to standards that I had back before the bombs fell, which isn't fair...these last five years have been hard on us. I'll try to be more patient with you in the future, ok? So..." she hesitated, as if not sure what to do, then awkwardly stuck out a hand. "Friends?"


Name: jon-Paul Nevin
Age: 32
Former Occupation (If any): Lumberjack
Physical Description: Jon-Paul stands at 6ft with broad shoulders. His black hair is a constant mess. His only attire is multicam pants, black combats boots and a black jumper.
Equipment: Jon-Paul carries a black hiking backpack, in it, blankets, empty bottles and memoirs from before the bombs dropped. He also carries a lumberjack axe that has never tasted human blood.
Biography: Jon-Paul was born and raised in Scotland. He worked alongside his father as a lumberjack during the day, and played baseball during the night. He was raised by a single father and was kicked out of school at 16 for assaulting a teacher. Since then he has worked as a lumberjack. He is a skilled boxer and runner. Although his days are spent cutting trees, his knights are spent punching bags or running a track. In times of stress Jon-Paul's retreat is boxing or running. A year before the bombs dropped, his Father died of natural causes. Jon-paul mourned him and moved on, and when word of nuclear war reached Scotland, Jon-Paul packed his bags and drove to London. Upon reaching, he was ushered by the military to Bunker-13, and there he resides now.

Melee (2)
Boxing (2)
Running (2)
Carpentry (2)
Hunting (1)
Guitar (1)

Cooking (-1)
Patience (-2)
Advanced studies (-1)
Claustrophobic (-1)
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Name: Maxim (Max) Ossam
Age: 31
Gender: Male
Former Occupations: Mechanic, Body-Builder
Physical Description: Max is a tall and square shouldered man, he has muscles covering every inch of his body and a tattoo of a snake running down his left shoulder
Equipment: Sledgehammer, Repair Belt (WD-40, Duck-Tape, Spanner, Screwdriver, you name it and he's probably got it)
Biography: Max was born in the suburban area of London and was not well raised, he dropped out of school aged 15 and joined a gang, learning how to fight with all manner of weapons, but it was his local gym that brought him off of the streets, and he decided that he wanted to do something with his life so he attempted to become a professional body-builder. He didn't do very well, but he made enough money to pursue his second passion, cars. He did an Engineering degree, and found it so interesting that after he joined a shop to earn some money, he pursued every alley of engineering having mastered cars. He wasn't going to be a master of one trade or a jack of all trades like most people, he was going to be a master of all trades. As such he built up many skills and kept up his physical strength, getting a gym membership and using it to it's full capabilities. He was working in the specialist repair shop (it does everything specialist) that he had recently started in partnership with a friend when the bombs had dropped. His friend was "off to the pub for a pint with Sarah, be back in 30 mate." Max never saw him again. His skills were highly valued in Bunker 13, he was one of the main reasons most of the machines were still running, and he'd demanded to the Colonel that he be made the chief engineer, because Max wasn't able to sit around and let other people help guard and run his fate.
Skills / Flaws:
Mechanic (Repairing and Building) (3)
Physical Strength (2)
Understanding of machines (including computers) (2)
Melee Combat (including Hand to Hand) (2)
Impatient (-1)
Academics (Outside of Mechanics) (-1)
Unwilling to trust others (-2) (Essentially he does not wish to place his safety in the hands of another person, he needs to in some way be in control of the situation)
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Dressed in faded fatigues and old boots the Royal engineer scratches his thinning hair as he looks up at windmill. Something had come loose, or had broken causing it to jam into place which in turn meant that there was nothing charging their battery array "Ok which of you boys fancies climbing up there?" he asks the two men behind him; pointing at the rickety looking scaffolding with a hand that only possessed two fingers and a thumb the others lost to a long ago gun fight over supplies "Shouldn't be anything overly complex but I am too old to be climbing up there especially when I've got a pair of willing volunteers with me" he continued with a grin knowing that if they wanted power this night that one of them would be forced to volunteer sooner or later.

"El Colonel is like father to me" she said in explanation as to why he got her to do some of his less important errands a fact that had garnered more than a little envy and dislike from some of the others who viewed it as being favouritism. Finding that the former detective however also seemed to hold her abilities in high regard went a long way to discouraging the nagging doubts that said it was only her relationship with the Colonel that got her the jobs.
Taking the other woman’s hand she smiles as she shook it before handing over the lollipop "sí amigos...we should probably grab as much as we can before this..." the girls hand makes a twirling gesture as she struggled for the right word trying to indicate the fog all around them before finally giving up "...niebla...gets worse" English was hard why couldn't the rest of them speak Spanish like Mickey could!?


Bloody hell it was cold thought Jon-paul as he listened to the "Royal" engineer. He never quite understood what was the point in that title. "Ok which of you boys fancies climbing up there?" asked the engineer with the few fingers he had left. Bloody windmill. "Shouldn't be anything overly complex but I am too old to be climbing up there especially when I've got a pair of willing volunteers with me" he added. "ya cheeky old donkey, what do i know about windmills?." Jon-paul replied. The chief engineer stood beside him, muscles and spanners that man. "I'll give ye a hand getting up there but sure there's very little i can help ye with" he told Max with a grin.